Chapter Text
“No,” Eleven giggled, backing away from Hopper as he playfully stomped towards her.
“Tickle monsters don't take no for an answer!” he shouted, before scooping her up and tickling her sides, her legs flailing as she shrieked and laughed in delight.
“Stop, stop!” She shouted, snorting as Hopper tickled her neck and caused her to tense up. Hopper laughed, his chest sore from the last fifteen minutes of a pure laughing fest with his new daughter. He sighed, ruffling her short hair before lying flat on the floor. He rubbed his chest and groaned.
“Jesus, kid, you've got a hell of a kick.”
“Don't say hell. That's a bad word,” Eleven said playfully. Hopper looked at her with a faux scowl.
“Let me guess: Joyce told you so.”
Eleven shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, a smile playing at her lips as she attempted to sound nonchalant. Hopper shook his head, chuckling as he pulled his 13 year old daughter into a hug.
“You’re catching on too quick to my weak points, kiddo.”
“What is weak points? I mean, what are? ” Eleven asked sincerely, her question muffled as she lay on her father's chest. Hopper hummed pensively.
“Like, what can make you do something, or something that isn't as strong as the other parts of you. Like how I'm big and tough and can arrest bad guys without breaking a sweat, but I somehow get convinced to wear three coats of nail polish and watch the Nerd Wars by you.”
“Star Wars,” Eleven corrected softly. Hopper rolled his eyes.
“Right, right. But you get what I mean, right El?”
“Yes,” she said contently, satisfied with his explanation. “Can we watch it again?”
Hopper laughed. “We just watched it an hour ago.”
Eleven pouted, using her newly learned Puppy Eyes technique as best as she could. Hopper simply shook his head.
“Tell you what: the boy's’ll be free in two hours after school; once I drop you off at Joyce's, you can watch it with them, okay?”
“Okay, Pap-”
Eleven’s voice hitched, and Hopper could feel her tense up. He rubbed her back soothingly.
“Hey. Hey, El, it's okay, you don't have to call me that if you don't want to.”
“I want to,” Eleven whispered immediately. The living room was silent, and Hopper mustered all of his might to keep himself from crying. His late daughter called him papa as well; having Eleven wanting to do the same just seemed surreal.
“Well, uh, then call me Papa Hop.”
Eleven smiled mischeviously. “Okay, Jim.”
Hopper tsked. “You're too quick at learning to get on my nerves, kiddo.”